


Homecoming

by quillandsaber



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Married Life, Married Sex, Reunion Sex, and it's not coming from Newt, early 20th century vulgar language, parents have sex lives too, sex in the missionary position for the express purpose of procreation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillandsaber/pseuds/quillandsaber
Summary: July 1936, Newt Scamander arrives home after four months in Africa.  He and his wife have some making up for lost time to do.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatieHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/gifts).



> This is a continuation of a flash fiction I wrote a few months back: https://quillandsaber.tumblr.com/post/164960609582/a-queenewt-snippet-because-inspiration-is-a . This continuation was requested by KatieHavok, and I tried to get it finished by her birthday but life got in the way. So here it is, a day late and unbetaed!

Queenie stands anxiously on her brother-in-law's lawn, trying her best not to bounce any more than the two boys she's got in hand. It's not supposed to be much longer, she reminds herself. His international Portkey for London was supposed to go off at half past two, and then he is to immediately Aparate to his Welcome Home party with the extended family, and it's now thirty-three minutes after the hour, surely he'd—

A loud crack interrupts her anxious, and there appears her husband, more tanned and weather-beaten than he'd been four months ago, but without any sign of permanent injury, thank goodness.

"Papa!" Her sons tear from her grip and rush forward to tackle their father to the plush grass. "Papa, you're back!"

"Yes, I am, you little beasts!" he chuckles, tussling the red hair that Queenie had done her utmost to comb neatly that morning (though with her curls and Newt's waves, the prospect of their children ever having neat hair was probably impossible). "My, you've grown! What has your mother been feeding you?" He looks up at her, hazel eyes meeting blue, and she's suddenly filled to the brim with thoughts full of gratitude of _my home, my children, my wife, my family_. It's all she can do to stay dignified in front of her in-laws and not join the haphazard pile her men have made on the Scamander Manor lawn.

Instead, she looks down at him and smiles. "Welcome home, honey."

He smiles back. "I can't tell you how happy I am to be here."

* * *

 

The party drags through the afternoon into the evening. Queenie gets to spend very little of it with her husband as he's dragged off to attend to his mother and father, and his brother pulls him into a long conversation with a few of his own friends about upcoming international political things that probably won't affect Britain in the slightest, and she's otherwise occupied keeping her sons from tormenting their younger cousins too much. It's well past dark when she and Newt finally get to take their children's hands and Aparate their small family back to the Dorset cottage.

Even then, though, Queenie has to keep her calm. She knows Isaac and Bennie didn't eat enough for supper—not like there really _was_ supper, more like one prolonged snack from lunch through dinnertime—so she goes off to make some quick sandwiches for the boys to wolf down while their father tells them stories of the creatures he'd encountered in his past four months in North Africa and passes out his travel gifts (traditional caps of some sort, whose bright colors clash wildly with their violently ginger hair, but they love them all the same). Queenie lets Newt wrangle the boys into preparing for bed and reading them their bedtime story while she cleans up and is patient but _damn_ is it becoming very hard to be patient.

By the time Newt tiptoes into their bedroom, it's half past ten. Queenie, who has been waiting in her special homecoming nightgown for the last half hour with the most recent _Witch Weekly_ in hand, has to fight the urge to literally jump on him. She can see the conflicting thoughts in his mind: he's missed her as much as she missed him, but he's exhausted, has barely had any sleep the last few days making sure he could leave the Sudan with no unfinished business left behind.

"Darling, I—"

"Don't worry, Newt, honey," Queenie smiles her forgiveness and pats the space next to her on the bed. "You need rest more than anything else right now."

She picks up on the thread _I need my wife more than anything else right now_ , but his attempt to say it out loud is cut short by a massive yawn. He has the grace to look sheepish when she raises an eyebrow at him, but he dutifully accepts the folded pajamas that sat (clean and pressed, even though Queenie had hoped he wouldn't need them that night) on his pillow, slips into bed, and is promptly snoring within fifteen seconds.

Queenie slips her magazine onto her bedside table, sighing, and crawls under the covers. She'd married him knowing there'd be times like this, she'd agreed to there being times like this, but damn if that means she has to like it.

* * *

 

They're woken the next day by Isaac and Bennie bounding through their bedroom door and bouncing on the bed, demanding to see what new creatures Newt had brought home, thus dashing any faint hopes Queenie might have had for a morning reunion. Instead, she's throwing on a plain, easy-wash cotton housedress and apron and getting to work feeding her men while Newt tries to get the boys to observe their normal routine even though their papa's home for the first time in months (Bennie's brain is nearly overwhelmed with excitement, Queenie can tell, and Isaac isn't handing things much better for all he's three years older). To his credit, Newt manages to remain firm in the face of two sets of mooncalf-eyes that no one will be seeing any creatures until their breakfast plates are clear of every last crumb (which of course means Bennie, who's still mastering the fine art of the fork, eats so quickly he nearly chokes on his kipper). Sons, husband, and herself fed, she moves to the kitchen to clean and put away the dishes when two strong arms encircle her waist from behind as a solid warmth appears at her back, and she's so, _so_ frustrated she can't even disguise a whimper of desire.

"Newt, the boys—"

"—are digging earthworms in the back garden for the jobberknoll well away from the vegetable patch," he murmurs in her ear. "I spoke with my brother yesterday."

"And?" She peeks in his head, but his Occlumency skills had clearly improved for the time in Sudan, because she hits a brick wall.

"He's agreed to take the boys for the next two days," Newt continues. "He'll come help pick them up just before supper tonight and have them back before Friday evening, if that's all right? I've told the scallywags we have lots of boring grown-up business to attend to, and since all their cousins are home for summer, they'll have a much better time at the Manor."

Queenie sets down her wand and turns around to face her husband, any lingering resentment from last night evaporating instantly. "Newt, you're a wonder," she said fervently.

"No, _you're_ the wonder for bearing up with me leaving you alone with the boys all the time." He plants a cheeky kiss on her forehead before pulling away to go corral their sons.

The rest of the day flies by, and before Queenie knows it, the tell-tale brisk knock of her brother-in-law interrupts the cacophony of the newly-reunited household. Thankfully, Theseus is either too polite to comment on the ruckus or far more used to it than his own children's behavior would indicate (she's never managed to get a good read on his thoughts and doesn't think she ever will), and he takes Isaac in one hand and the boy's suitcase in the other while Newt hoists Bennie on his hip, and they pop off to Scamander Manor, leaving Queenie behind for achingly long seconds waiting for her husband to return. Of course she knows it's ridiculous to ask Theseus to Aparate with two young children and a suitcase at the same time, but she _just_ went through this interminable, intolerable waiting yesterday, and—

Newt pops back in the living room, and before another second has passed, he has his arms wrapped around her, picking her up so he can kiss her without bending down. Queenie feels her house slippers fall off her feet, but she can't be bothered to worry about it because _this is a kiss worth waiting four months for_. The hot press of his lips against hers makes her nearly go wild with the wanting that had built up over the day of anticipation, and she squirms in his hold as they make up for lost time.

"Newt, Newt honey," she manages to gasp when his lips trail to her jaw and to that spot on her neck that's deliciously sensitive. "Bedroom. _Now_."

They stumble through the house, shedding garments as they go towards the bedroom, just like they had when they were newlyweds just moved into the cottage on the Dorset coast. By the time they're standing beside the bed, a shirtless Newt is undoing Queenie's girdle zipper as her hands make short work of his fly buttons. She barely manages to shove his trousers down his hips before he's pulling her girdle to the floor and laying her back on their summer coverlet, drinking her in with his eyes, _I missed you I missed this I missed you you're so beautiful I love you so much—_

He climbs gingerly on the bed and kisses the swell of her belly reverently through the thin rayon of her slip, and between the words of his thoughts she catches snippets of images in his head of what she looked like when she was expecting their boys, ripe and fertile and womanly, and it puts her in mind of what he wrote in his secret letter to her. The memory of his words sends a rush of heat between her legs, and she struggles not to squirm too much.

"Honey," she breathes, her head falling back on the pillow. "Honey, you're gonna drive me crazy."

"What if I want to drive you crazy?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

"Do you want a crazy woman carrying your child?"

He pauses then and rises up to look her in the eye, his hand still resting on her hip. "I want _you_ carrying my child, crazy or no."

That statement, that look in his eyes of lust and love in equal measure, tears the last of her restraint to shreds. "Then _please_ , Newt. It's been four months, I've been thinking about this all day, and I don't think I can bear to wait another second."

He surges up to kiss her mouth again, and his right hand finally slides under her slip exactly where Queenie wants his attentions. She clasps his shoulders to keep him there, _right_ there as he works her core with practiced expertise, coaxing the fires of her already-piqued arousal higher and higher as her hips buck in time and she babbles encouragements and endearments at her husband.

"Don't stop, honey. Right, _yes_ , dearheart, I missed you so much..."

 _Damn_ is he good with those magic fingers on her and in her, and those deliciously dirty memories in his head of the things they've done over the past eight years are enough to drive her over the edge. Queenie cries out, clutching her husband— _how she missed him!_ —as she shudders through her completion. They lay there for a bit, his hand migrating to stroke gently on her hip as she returns to herself.

"Well?" he asks at last, and she can hear the quiet smirk in his voice.

"Newton Artemis Fido Scamander," she gasps out between heavy breaths as her hands flounder for the waistband of his drawers, "if you don't get your prick inside me in the next sixty seconds, I will hex you back to Sudan."

He chuckles, but he obediently pulls away to divest himself of the last of his clothing as she wriggles out of her slip. Soon he's moving between her thighs, lining himself up with her entrance and then finally, _finally_ , sliding home.

They both gasp at the union. It's been so long since they've had the opportunity for this closeness, her hands had never come close to mimicking this feeling of fullness and rightness. He shifts his weight slightly, and they both moan at the sensation.

"Darling, I don't think—I can't—"

"Do it, honey," she coos in his ear as she runs her hands over his strong shoulders. "Plenty of time for sweet and slow later. Now I just want _you_."

With a groan his hips snap forward, and soon he's thrusting in a rhythm she can match with her hips. He's getting close quickly, she can feel it and hear it in his breath and in his head, and it overwhelms her senses to experience both of their excitement at the same time. He won't last this time, but she doesn't care. She's waited four months for this too.

"That's it, honey," she moans. "Come off in me. Give me another baby. I want—"

She can't finish her sentence as the white-hot sensation of him reaching climax stuns her momentarily through his last three hard thrusts. His forehead falls to meet hers, and they breathe together, smiling as they let the warm reality of their reunion flow through them feeling like everything is right with the world in this moment. Moments later, Newt slips off from atop her so he can curl his body around her, comforting and safe. They lie like that in perfect contentment until her husband breaks the silence.

"Do you think…?" he trails off as his fingers divert from their idle path to trace circles low on her belly, and Queenie dips into his mind to pick up the rest of the question.

"We'll see," she smiles lazily. "The timing's right, but we should keep trying, just to be safe."

Newt chuckles and tenderly kisses her strawberry curls. "I'm far from opposed to repeated efforts. And next time I should be able to make it more worth your while."

She hums with contentment. "Nap, then sandwiches for dinner?"

"And then another round."

"Sounds like a plan."

**Author's Note:**

> Questions about esoteric details? Comments? Your feedback is appreciated!


End file.
